At this critical point, with MacNair's confession still echoing in everyone's minds and the silence growing unbearable, Umbridge knew that she could no longer remain passive or silent.
She suddenly straightened up from her hunched, defeated posture. She deliberately raised her voice in a forceful, authoritative manner attempting to break through the oppressive, shocked silence that had fallen over the clearing.
"This is absolutely impossible!" She stated coldly, though her eyes avoided meeting Dumbledore's steady, knowing gaze. "The delirious ramblings of a severely injured man currently under the influence of Veritaserum cannot be taken as legitimate evidence!"
Her voice climbed higher, and became more shrill. "Mr. MacNair is clearly in shock, possibly concussed, certainly traumatized! He will be taken back immediately to the Ministry of Magic for a considerably more comprehensive and formal investigation under proper conditions!"
Her words seemed like a desperate attempt to regain control of a situation that had slipped completely through her fingers.
But everyone present knew very well that MacNair's words carried far more inherent weight and credibility than Umbridge's currently pale, feeble, self-serving rebuttals.
Veritaserum didn't lie.
Dumbledore watched her quietly, calmly from his position, his profound gaze seeming to see directly through her bluster and posturing to the raw fear and panic churning beneath.
He didn't argue with her or challenge her clear lie. Instead, he spoke in a calm, clear tone: "Taking Mr. MacNair back to the Ministry for further investigation is certainly within your authority, and I have no intention of interfering with that process. However, Madam Umbridge," he paused for a moment.
"Please be sure to convey this message to Minister Fudge—tell him to make thorough preparations for that person's arrival."
These words fell like a final judgment, like a prophet's warning, weighing heavily on everyone's hearts and minds.
Umbridge's mouth opened as if to protest or argue further, but no sound emerged. What could she say? How could she refute a warning when MacNair's confession was fresh in everyone's minds?
Instead, making a decision to retreat and regroup elsewhere, she merely signaled sharply to her subordinates with jerky, agitated hand movements.
"Get him up! Carefully! Move! We're leaving immediately!" she commanded shrilly.
The Aurors quickly levitated the now-unconscious MacNair's body—the Veritaserum had taken its toll, and he'd passed out from the combination of blood loss, pain, and the interrogation.
Then, the entire Ministry delegation began their retreat and departed in fluster and disarray. Today's catastrophic events would require them to write detailed reports.
Reports about the existence and demonstrated hostility of the Treants, their numbers and capabilities. Reports about MacNair's revealed identity as an active Death Eater and the implications for Ministry security. Reports about the diplomatic disaster. Reports about the injuries. Reports about everything.
Mountains of paperwork.
It would be a bureaucratic nightmare that would consume months.
Soon, as the last Ministry official disappeared down the forest path toward the castle, only Dumbledore and Adrian remained standing outside the Forbidden Forest's edge.
"Today's events were far more chaotic and unpredictable than I initially imagined they would be," Adrian said to Dumbledore, his tone light despite the gravity of what had just occurred.
He seemed amused by the entire disaster. "So, tell me, Professor—how many times is this now that you've warned Fudge specifically about Voldemort's imminent return?"
"Honestly, at this point I've lost count," Dumbledore admitted, shaking his head gently with something like weary resignation. "At least three formal warnings through official channels, perhaps four. Probably more if you count informal conversations and hints. Dozens if you count the times I've tried to subtly raise the topic."
He sighed softly.
"You should understand by now, Professor," Adrian's tone carried a hint of knowing sympathy, "you can never, ever wake someone who's pretending to be asleep."
Everyone understood such a simple truth about human nature.
Dumbledore seemed somewhat regretful, almost melancholy as he gazed into the distance. "Cornelius Fudge was once a clever man, you know. Practical. Reasonable. I worked with him for years when he first came to power. He made good decisions."
"People always change, Professor," Adrian said calmly. "Very few remain who they once were. Nothing ever goes entirely according to anyone's expectations or plans."
"Like Harry," Dumbledore suddenly interjected, seemingly fitting of nothing, his voice took on a different tone. "We can never truly predict a person's future with certainty, no matter how much we plan or guide."
'Harry?'
Adrian was slightly taken aback, genuinely surprised, momentarily unsure why Dumbledore would suddenly mention Harry's name at this moment.
Was he feeling that events were becoming somewhat uncontrollable?
However, from Adrian's perspective and observation, Harry was actually growing and developing quite well along the path both he and Dumbledore had more or less envisioned and hoped for.
Oh, speaking of Harry, Adrian suddenly realized with some irony—Umbridge's troubles today, this entire catastrophic situation, were ultimately rooted in and traceable back to the Defense Against the Dark Arts study group that Harry had organized and was leading.
If Harry hadn't formed that group, if students hadn't been meeting secretly, Umbridge wouldn't have been so obsessed with shutting it down. She wouldn't have gone to confront the Treants. None of this would have happened.
One thing leading to another, consequences went in unexpected directions.
But after today's events, Adrian imagined with some satisfaction that Umbridge wouldn't have any time to deal with Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts study group for quite a while.
After all, the enormous troubles with the Treants and the MacNair investigation and security review would be more than enough to keep her frantically busy for weeks or months to come.
Harry and his students could practice in peace.
Adrian nodded thoughtfully at Dumbledore, acknowledging the complexity of the situation, then began walking with casual, leisurely steps back toward the Forbidden Forest's depths. "Goodbye then, Professor. I need to go check on Bart now—he's always been quite timid and sensitive emotionally, you know, and he might be frightened by what happened. Worried he did something wrong."
Dumbledore paused mid-breath, momentarily completely speechless, his eyebrows were climbing toward his hairline.
Timid? Bart? That absolutely massive Treant who'd just grown to the size of a small building and led dozens of his kind in terrifying, overwhelming force against Ministry officials?
Those Treants had shown no visible signs of timidity whatsoever.
But he said nothing, merely shook his head with exasperation as Adrian disappeared into the trees.
After the calendar turned and entered November, bringing with it the walk toward winter, the weather at Hogwarts turned sharply colder with surprising speed.
The mountains surrounding the ancient castle on all sides were now perpetually shrouded in thick layers of gray, cold mist that clung to the slopes and peaks like ghostly blankets. The mist rolled down the valleys in the mornings, making visibility poor and lending everything a dreamlike, somewhat eerie shade.
The increasing chill began to seep into the castle, penetrating through walls that had stood for a thousand years but couldn't quite keep out Scottish winter.
Students throughout the school had been forced to add several extra warm layers to their standard robes. The Great Hall at mealtimes looked like a gathering of particularly fashionable bears.
Even the most powerful wizards, despite their magic and abilities, were still fundamentally mortal beings made of flesh and blood. They felt cold like anyone else. Magic didn't make you immune to temperature, just better equipped to deal with it.
Of course, one could also choose the more elegant solution and simply cast a reliable warming charm on their robes and clothing. A simple spell, lasting hours, making winter bearable.
Just like Adrian was doing at this particular moment as he stood in the outdoor courtyard.
Even standing outside in the open air, exposed to November wind and mist, the warming charm woven into his robes allowed him to comfortably wear only a single thin robe rather than the bulky layers everyone else required. He looked effortlessly comfortable while others shivered.
Speaking of recent developments and notable absences, Adrian had noticed that he'd been seeing Umbridge around the Hogwarts campus far, far less frequently in recent days and weeks. Her distinguishing pink figure was conspicuously, blessedly absent from corridors and courtyards where she'd previously patrolled constantly.
She must be frantically busy dealing with the mounting pile of Ministry affairs and political damage control resulting from the Forbidden Forest disaster.
However, to her credit, perhaps the only credit she deserved—she had at least been attending her scheduled Defense Against the Dark Arts classes on time and fulfilling that minimal professional obligation.
Although, Adrian reflected cynically, it made essentially little practical difference whether she actually taught those classes or not. The students still learned absolutely nothing of value from her theoretical, useless lessons.
They might as well have been studying from a textbook independently. They'd probably learn more that way.
Besides that prominent absence, Adrian had just moments ago seen Minister Fudge himself outside Dumbledore's office on the castle's upper floors.
Fudge's presence at Hogwarts was almost certainly about dealing with Umbridge's catastrophic situation and the diplomatic fallout.
For Fudge personally, as Minister responsible for all Ministry operations, having one of his personally appointed officials cause such enormous trouble at Hogwarts was definitely not a good thing politically.
If detailed word got out publicly about what had really happened, it would be quite a massive scandal.
Front page news for weeks: "Ministry Official Attacks Peaceful Magical Creatures—Multiple Casualties—Death Eater Discovered in Government Position."
Just then, interrupting Adrian's contemplation about political disasters and their consequences, Professor McGonagall's figure appeared at the far end of the long corridor.
She walked briskly toward him with her typical no-nonsense stride, her tartan robes were swishing with each step. She was clearly looking for him specifically, not just passing by.
"Professor Westeros," she stopped before him, getting straight to business. Her tone was as crisp and efficient as always. "Mr. Amos Diggory is currently waiting for you in the entrance hall. He's been there about ten minutes."
Adrian raised one eyebrow with surprise and curiosity. "Oh? What's the matter?"
He hadn't been expecting any visitors today, certainly not Cedric's father.
"Mr. Diggory will explain the specifics himself," Professor McGonagall said, adjusting her spectacles with one finger in her habitual gesture. "But from what I understand from our brief conversation, , it's probably about needing your assistance with communicating properly with the Treants. Diplomatic relations. That sort of thing."
Adrian nodded with understanding; the pieces were clicking into place. "Ah, of course."
Indeed, it made sense—Umbridge had previously assigned the complex, delicate task of establishing diplomatic communication with the Treants to Mr. Diggory. Dumped it in his lap.
As for Mr. Diggory himself, he was definitely an acquaintance of Adrian's. Their relationship was quite cordial, even friendly.
Adrian was naturally willing to help someone he knew dealing with a difficult assignment. Especially since it would benefit the Treants to have a reasonable liaison.
Adrian followed Professor McGonagall back through the castle's corridors, down several staircases, until they reached the large entrance hall. From a distance, still approaching, he could already see Amos Diggory standing near the massive front doors, talking energetically with a tall student.
Although Adrian could only see the student's back from this angle and distance, he immediately recognized the build and posture as Cedric.
A father and son conversation, then.
"I'm perfectly well aware of your grades and capabilities..." they heard as they drew closer, Mr. Diggory's voice was resounding across the echoing hall.
As Adrian and Professor McGonagall approached near enough to hear clearly, they caught Mr. Diggory chattering away enthusiastically to his son.
"The Department of Magical Games and Sports is always recruiting talented new people—they'd snap you up immediately with your Quidditch background and tournament experience!
Or the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would also be an excellent fit... You're certainly more than qualified to find an internship position at either place, son. Or rather, honestly, they'd be fighting each other to have you on..."
Cedric maintained a polite, patient smile on his handsome face, nodding at appropriate moments in his father's monologue. But Adrian, observing keenly noticed small details—Cedric's fingers were unconsciously pinching and worrying at the edge of his school robe in a nervous gesture.
Clearly, despite his outer composure, he was somewhat exasperated by his father's persistent attempts to plan and arrange his entire future career path. This was obviously not the first time they'd had this conversation.
But Mr. Diggory, warming to his subject and oblivious to his son's subtle discomfort, grew more enthusiastic and livelier as he continued speaking, listing more possibilities and opportunities and connections he could leverage.
Finally, unable to bear the one-sided career planning any longer, Cedric gently interrupted his father mid-sentence.
"Dad," he said with a helpless sigh, "didn't I already tell you? After graduation, I plan to travel to different places for a while first. See the world. Experience different magical cultures."
Mr. Diggory fell abruptly silent for a moment, his enthusiastic expression faded into something more thoughtful and concerned.
Then he said slowly, "I understand, son. But you must realize—this is the most important, crucial time in your career development. These first years after Hogwarts set your entire trajectory. I would suggest you should try to establish yourself at the Ministry first, build connections, prove yourself... but..."
He paused, seeming to wrestle with himself. Then his expression softened with familial love. "All right. All right, son. I support whatever decision you ultimately make."
Cedric breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Dad."
Fortunately, his father wasn't the type to be extremely stubborn or controlling about these matters.
Then Cedric noticed Adrian and Professor McGonagall approaching across the hall. He immediately turned and nodded politely to them both in acknowledgment and greeting.
"Professor McGonagall. Professor Westeros. Good afternoon."
Mr. Diggory also turned around at his son's greeting, and his face immediately broke into a warm smile again. "Professor McGonagall! Adrian! Thank you both so much for making the special trip down here to meet with me. I know you're both incredibly busy."
He reached out to pat his son's shoulder affectionately, his tone becoming more cheerful and light. "My son hasn't caused any trouble at school, has he?"
This was always a father's primary concern when speaking with teachers at school.
Professor McGonagall nodded with slight seriousness. "Cedric has always been a model student at Hogwarts, Mr. Diggory."
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